Island Chill
by Console
Summary: Not even hitting terra extremely firma can stop DI Richard Poole from solving a murder and an old family legend.


"Well, I'm finally cold on this wretched island. Go me." Richard Poole murmured ironically to himself as he raised his eyes to follow the vertical sides of the sinkhole he had fallen into, which had debouched into an ancient lava tube.

The walls were slick with seawater and as he ran his hand over the surface he heard the snap-hiss of the ocean far below, forcing another fine spray of chilled droplets up a narrow lava chimney to his right.

Wincing at stiffening bruises, he turned to crouch by the too still form of his colleague. The cold he felt wasn't just from the chill in the dank hole. Camille had had the softer landing, mostly on him but when regaining consciousness he'd found himself covered with her blood from where she had suffered a nasty crack on the forehead from one of the many sharp rocks which littered the floor. After quickly and efficiently checking her for broken bones, while trying to ignore the cold knot of fear in his gut about possible head and neck injuries, he had inched his jacket under her body, pulling it round her like a shawl, her lacy top doing nothing to combat the damp chill of the collapsed tunnel.

He felt her forehead, was she clammy? It was hard to tell. He desperately wished she would wake-up. He could do with her sharp-tongued wit, even if it scolded him. In fact he would give anything to hear her lilting accent right now. He hastily pulled his hand back when he realized he had been absently stroking her cheek.

"Get a grip, man." He chided himself. He sighed; it shouldn't be this hard to work with people, according to the literature on the subject. People should stay in their properly designated roles and he had a very well made, strong mental wall, honed over many years, between his work and personal life but one that, he had to admit, was in danger of crumbling like a wet Digestive when he was around the beautiful DS. Damnit; why did these people insist on being friends with him as well as colleagues?

Lord, every part of him hurt, he was going to be black and blue and this headache wasn't getting any better. The cold salt water was stinging the lacerations on his back; shrugging, he pulled out their cell phones. Same as before, neither showed any bars; could GPS work then? Richard made a mental note to find out later. "If we have a later," he thought glumly.

No one knew he and Camille had decided to explore around the back of the derelict plantation house on the edge of cliffs overlooking one of St Marie's many smuggler's coves. It had belonged to a suspect in a current murder case and Richard had been intrigued by the fatalistic attitude of the elder members of the family. Like some older island families they had a legend attached to their name. This one was that some members of the family would just disappear, never to be seen again. This had caused a delay in the reporting of a missing person who had since washed up further down the coast to the horror of some picnickers. Dwayne or Fidel might think to check the property but it was long shot.

He made another sweep of their area. There was some wood from something broken but it too was sodden, from the spray forced up the lava hole by the pounding waves. Nothing to burn, even if he had matches and nothing to help him climb out to get help, the walls too slick with water and lichen to get a grip.

He paced, stopping occasionally to check on Camille. It had been about four hours. Dwayne and Fidel must have started searching by now. To pass the time he turned his thoughts to the case. The body of Adolfo Prentice had washed up to spoil the appetites of a group of backpackers who had hiked to a remote cove only accessible on foot. It could have been a swimming accident but Richard had not been happy with that explanation. Prentice had been wearing an expensive dress watch and rings, the sort of things you would remove before taking a dip. He and Camille had left Dwayne and Fidel to do SOC and gone to talk to the dead man's family.

Pacing wasn't warming him much. He sat and scooted closer to Camille, taking her hand. It was like ice. Rubbing her fingers, he tried to construct a mental white board of the case so far.

There was the matriarch, Sofia, a battleaxe of the type Richard knew only too well, intent on grandchildren at anyone else's cost. Her eldest son, Gregory, the performance artist; channeling Noel Coward, that one. Sherena, some sort of ward of the family, a real yellow rose of Texas by her accent. Oil money in trust, apparently. Adolfo had been a bit of an oddball, even for that family. A naturist and vegan, his room had been almost Amish in its plainness. Then there was Teddy, a recently arrived cousin. Built like a wrestler; looked like he should have had fur growing down to his eyebrows and speak in grunts.

"Rich…ard?"

"I'm here, Camille, I'm here. Don't try to move. Oh, I'm so very glad you're awake. Stay with me, please, just try to stay with me…"

"Hmmmm, that's….irony."

"Pardon? Never mind, just relax, I'm sure they'll be here soon."

"How…where?"

"We fell, or at least I did; I think you tried to stop me. We seem to have solved the mystery of the disappearing relatives anyway. If these sinkholes keep appearing, little wonder people have disappeared over the years."

Camille sighed and her head slumped. "No! Camille! Stay with me; concentrate on my voice."

"What… are we ….to talk about?"

"I've been thinking about the case but I haven't got very far."

"Hmmm… cold."

"I know. Now, don't go off on me." Richard took both her hands in his, cupping them with his fingers to blow on them; he thought desperately "I know, I'll tell you a story."

"A story? You?'

"It's a classic. A proper one and it fits our situation."

Camille huffed a laugh, it was the best thing Richard had ever heard. "Go on then."

"In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit….."

Suddenly he thought he heard something, he froze, hardly daring to breathe, yes! There it was again, the faint sound of a vehicle and voices calling.

"Hello! Help us! Over here!" he shouted, as loud as he could, he cast about for something to wrap around a piece of scoria to throw up and attract…. He glanced at Camille's brightly colored skirt, then looked away…no...best not. Nothing for it then, he began to undo his belt.

Fidel looked up as a flash of white caught his eye. "Dwayne! Something moved there!" he ran towards where he had seen the movement, weaving his way through the overgrown rhododendron bushes. He stooped and picked up a large piece of scoria which had material tied round it, a pair of underwear. He showed it to Dwayne who came panting up. "Chief! Chief! Where are you?!"

"Down here!" was the faint reply.

Fidel looked around, not far from where they were the ground seemed to dip, cautiously he peered in and looked down into the much relieved face of his DI.

"Quickly, get an ambulance, Camille is injured, they'll need a back board, she's only barely conscious and… it's bloody freezing down here!"

In short order two ambulance men rappelled down to move Camille. Richard was directed to grab a rope and was unceremoniously hauled up to the surface.

"Ahhhh!" He lay on his back, soaking up the warmth of the sun, which immediately began drying his soaked shirt.

Dwayne loomed anxiously, "You OK, Chief?"

"Fantastic. It's like a Finnish sauna in reverse…" suddenly he stopped smiling and stared wide-eyed at Dwayne's face and abruptly jumped to his feet. "Adolfo was wearing board shorts."

Fidel blinked "Yes."

"But he never went sailing. That's what Gregory does. And he was a naturist; if he went swimming it was in the buff."

"So maybe he expected company…"

"No! He wouldn't care. It's in reverse. Noel, I mean Gregory, should be the one wearing the expensive er...bling. What if…"

Richard paused as the ambulance men came past carrying Camille's stretcher. Fidel and Richard started walking beside it. "What if, Adolfo was going to inherit, especially if he married Sherena with her money; Sofia gets the grandchildren she'll never have with Gregory and…"

Camille reached out to grasp Richards's sleeve "Sherena didn't love Adolfo."

"No?"

"No, she was nowhere near upset enough…I can tell. Believe me."

"So with Adolfo out of the picture….but why the reversal? Oh, oh yes! Of course! Teddy! Gregory or both Gregory and Sherena, get Teddy to drown Adolfo and to make it look like an accident. He tries to get creative and puts some clothes and jewelry on him so the body can be identified if it gets cut up on the rocks or chewed by fish…." Richard stumbled, "Ow, ooof!"

Fidel grabbed his arm "Boss your back is all cut up, I can see blood through your shirt!"

"Most of its mine." came Camille's voice from inside the ambulance.

Fidel helped Richard into the back of the ambulance "Not all of it. You get cleaned up at the hospital, sir. We'll take care of Teddy in the morning."

Two days later the team was filing the last paperwork on the case. Dwayne came in from parking the police wagon.

"Oh, Chief? Do you want these back or should they go in an evidence bag?" Dwayne deadpanned.

Richard stared him down "File in the "round" file thank you, Constable." He went out.

Dwayne gave the underwear a couple of twirls before loosing it to land neatly in the rubbish bin. He shot one of his trademark cheeky grins at Fidel "Well at least it answers one question about the boss," he chuckled

Fidel looked blank, "Sorry?"

"Boxers or briefs, man, boxers or briefs?"


End file.
